Michael Andrews Arts
To Hell With That Shield
To hell with the Spartans.
They will never treat me to a free meal in their rat shit little town now.
Some blue tattooed Thracian, dumber than a sackfull of Spartans
is dancing naked around a bonfire with my beautiful new shield.
When those jelly kneed bastards turned and ran from the Saians
I had no choice, it was my shield or my ass,
so I threw the shield behind a bush, grabbed my ass and ran like hell.
And a damn good shield it was too, but it saved my skin
which doesn't have a single tattoo, blue or otherwise,
and is still firmly stretched tight over my aching bones.
Spartan mommies say "come back with your shield or on it."
You can't get more flat-ass stupid than a Spartan mommy.
To hell with that shield, to hell with the Spartans
and to hell with that Thracian too.
I am out of the rain, laughing with the same bastards
that left me facing a Thracian horde alone,
I'm drunk as a skunk and my ass is attached and my skin is too,
and when I am stone cold sober in the morning
I'll get another shield just as good – or even better.
Who knows, maybe in some battle or other
I'll meet that Thracian shield to shield
and we'll see what difference a tattoo makes.
After all, shields come and shields go
but you have to sit on your own backside forever
and no one is never, ever going to buy you
a nice, shiny new ass.